


deserts miss the rain

by alchemicalromance



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abstract, Abstract Reylo, Cloud seeding, Desert, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Pining, Rain, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemicalromance/pseuds/alchemicalromance
Summary: Rey is the parched earth suffering in the dead heat of a global warming summer.Ben is a cloud seeding meteorologist determined to end her torment.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	deserts miss the rain

The relentless sun beats down against her, burning away the last few drops of moisture and stealing any hope of relief. She can’t remember how long she has lain prone in the inescapable heat, but she knows it can’t last forever. This is too much, even for a resilient scavenger like her. Death or salvation will come eventually. Perhaps both.

She tries to imagine water. Sometimes as a wild river that ends with a waterfall flourish. Sometimes as a lake, endlessly still and cool and deep. Or simply as dew, a glistening carpet resplendent under the first rays of sunlight.

She tries not to dwell on desiccation, on the cracks breaking her open in the bone-dry heat. The truth is, nothing can live like this. Only suffer. Even nightblossoms and spinebarrels couldn’t tolerate such a drought. She is completely alone.

After an age, a figure appears on the horizon. A man, she thinks, although he could be a mirage. Thirsty minds must be careful in the desert.

As he draws closer, his image is gradually revealed and she decides to trust in his reality. He is tall, taller than most men, and broad in the shoulders. His dark, wavy hair is pulled back from a handsome face.

She isn’t close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his skin, but she imagines it. A light film of precious moisture glossing the flawless angles of his face. She would drink it, if she could. Carefully sucking each delicious drop clean from his skin. She wants it so much that she aches.

His body is covered by dark robes, dusty from his journey. He pulls a large wagon piled high with wood, metal and hessian sacks. She can pick out the shapes of beams and boards, and something that appears to be a large funnel. It is a heavy load, but he is strong enough to manage without too much struggle.

She wonders if he can see her suffering, if her agony might move him to help her. He continues on, showing no signs of slowing, and she fears she has longer to wait for her rescue.

Then, he stops.

The area around him is flat and featureless, devoid of any marker to identify it as significant. He checks readings on an instrument pulled from his robes and nods to himself, as if satisfied. He begins unloading the wagon, pulling down hunks of metal and wood with conviction. She watches passively, dehydration obscuring the curiosity she would usually feel watching such an endeavour unfold.

Next, he builds. It isn’t clear to her at first what he aims to do, but as the day passes the beams and boards come together with ropes and nails to form a great tower. It isn’t elegant, but it is sturdy and stretches far higher than she would have thought possible.

Once or twice, he raises his sleeve to wipe his sweating forehead as he works. Jealousy flairs within her, furious that he should waste the precious droplets of moisture without thought for her desperation. She would cry out to him if she could, but she can’t. There will be no moving to attract his attention.

When the tower is done, he hoists the remaining metal and sacks to the top and climbs up behind them once he’s sure they’re secured. On the tower’s highest level, he sets to work again and she realises he is assembling some kind of machine.

The tower’s shadow stretches out longer and longer behind it, signalling the approach of night. The man continues without pause, until finally the work is done.

The great tower juts out from the barren desert and into the night air. The machine rests atop the wooden base with the wide funnel pointing skywards above it. The man pauses to appraise his completed construct and appears satisfied.

Reality is beginning to fade, softening and slipping away in the haze of her exhaustion. But when he speaks for the first time, whispering a soft promise into the arid night air, she knows his words are for her.

_Please hold on. I’ll bring you what you need._

She trusts him, resisting the sweet pull of oblivion that would end her suffering.

The man lifts the first of the sacks and begins to pour the contents into a hatch on the machine. He moves swiftly through the others until he has emptied them all, then closes the hatch. His hand grasps a crude lever on the machine’s side and with a deep breath, he firmly pulls it down as far as it will go.

Noise bursts from the machine as it roars to life. She thinks the soundwaves must travel forever across the barren landscape. The engine is clearly powerful, but the tower holds strong beneath it.

A vast column of smoke rushes up into the sky from the machine’s funnel, rising fast into the atmosphere. No, not smoke she realises. A finely-grained substance, something pale and granular. Sand perhaps, or salt? It is too dark for her to discern the exact colour.

For many minutes, the machine fires its unbroken plume into the atmosphere. The man stands watching, occasionally checking a dial on the machine or lifting the hatch to check the contents.

Finally, the machine’s engine dies and the silence of the desert flows back over the night.

Whatever the man came to do, it is done. She watches as he climbs down from his tower, walks a short distance and lays on the ground.

He is close to her now. By the light of the bright moon above, she can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath the dark robes. He lays quiet, looking up at the stars, and waits.

Her desperation for water has been all-consuming and inescapable, and she had sensed that the end was approaching. Looking at the resting man now, she is surprised to discover that she still has the capacity to long for other things.

He stretches out a hand and runs his fingers lightly across her. His hands are rough, but his touch is a soft caress.

He whispers to her again. _Not long now. I promise._

The atmosphere thickens with tension, as if the sky is holding its breath. She is faint with exhaustion, dehydrated to the very precipice of death, and yet she could swear the night air has cooled slightly. Hope stirs.

It’s nearly midnight when the deep rumble of thunder sounds overhead.

When the first, fat raindrops begin to fall she could cry with relief. They begin slowly, leaving her excruciatingly aware of the tiny wet pool formed by each landing drop. As the storm gets underway, the drops become a downpour that delivers a constant, blissful beat against her.

It is heaven and life and pleasure on a level she has never experienced. She is washed clean of suffering and desperation as the cracks in her surface are soothed and filled. Water runs over her, swirling and pooling and sinking below the surface to nourish her.

The man lays still, eyes closed with a soft smile on his face. The rain washes over him too, soaking his robes and muddying the ground beneath him.

They lay together under the falling rain for hours, drenched and peaceful, surrounded by the steady thrumming of the raindrops and the low rumbles of thunder overhead.

Finally, the rain comes to an end, leaving the air feeling clear and fresh in its wake. Over the next few days, she is transformed. Life bursts up from the damp soil as long dormant seeds rush their first green shoots to the surface. Skeletal trees awaken and offer up shiny new leaves.

The desert in which he arrived disappears, overwhelmed by a verdant garden of Eden that is full of life and colour. He has never seen anything so beautiful. In the ecstasy of becoming a blooming oasis, she doesn’t forget her saviour.

But how to love the man who coaxed this sweet paradise from the barren earth with science and sweat? Carefully, she searches through her seedbed for the perfect gift. And there it is. A million miles from its natural home, but exactly where she needs it to be.

She doesn’t usually involve herself in the lives of those on her surface. She watches them with affection, offering up what they need and welcoming them back when they are done with the business of being. To thank her rescuer, she finds it is no trouble to make an exception.

He watches with wonder as a small, grey-barked tree rises from the soil nearby and stretches above him in the course of a day. Glossy, vibrant green leaves adorn the branches and are soon interspersed with tiny, star-shaped, yellow-green flowers. When the flowers give way to a rich crop of dark fruits, he stands to take a closer look.

Standing is not so easy. Days have passed with only captured rainwater to sustain him and he has been tired from building the tower in such haste.

This tree is a gift, he realises. A blessing sent to revive him.

 _Thank you_ , he whispers, reaching out to pluck one of the now-ripened fruits and biting into the soft flesh. Delicious and familiar, the sweet juice floods his mouth. The taste surfaces a memory from long ago, when he first learnt the name of this beautiful little tree.

The darling plum, he remembers, _Reynosia septentrionalis_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first story.  
> I know it’s short and strange, but I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> A note on the science fiction:  
> I believe the science around cloud seeding and cloud brightening is uncertain, but research appears to be ongoing. For instance, Southern Cross University in Australia have been exploring how it might be used to prevent or reduce coral bleaching.


End file.
